The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1887-12-17
CRAVEN ON A ROCK.

UNA VEN ON "A MUM.
The sea had somehow lost it's old charm
for me that particular summer. 1t might
have been that, "seen too oft familiar with
its face" had tired of its monotony, and
wished to get the old stereotyped ring
ing out of my ears, and rest my eyes from
the glare of the merciless sun that shone
only on the white sands and the pitiless-
ly reflected waters.
And, beside I wanted rest-rest in it's
truest and best sense; rest from the daily
rounds of ceaseless frivolty; rest from
the inane CHATTER of the gilded butterflies
of the fashionable beach, and rest from
the constant changes of toilet that "good
form" demands of the habitue Of the ele-
CANT seaside resort if she or he was to be
considered en- reggie, and pose for socie-
ty person.
WANTED to go into hiding somewhere
for brief season, not exactly as her,
NIT, but that / might find a marked
change from the old conventional way OF
spending a month or so of vacation.
/ got this change in an unexpected
manner, and the transition from human
frivolty to tragic psthos was more than
L had planned.
found myself, one September morn
ing, standing by the shore of beautiful
little sheet of water among the Sussex
hills, in the northern part of New Jersey,
in sort of Rip Van Wrinkle study. The
metamorphosis had been sudden and
complete in my surroundings. An hour
or two ago had been in the whirl and
hustle of active city life. Now I was in
the midst of peace and quiet, among ru-
raj scenery that was restful to the eye,
heart and brain.
The sheet of water at whose edge l
was standing was digniied by the name
of Lake Wannaysnda-an Indian appel
lation, as I atterward learned-and was
a diminutive piece to bear the name of
lake.
But it was very beautiful, as I recall
it, on that bright September morning,
nestled among the towering hills, and
framed by the foliage of the trees, and
with margin of green formed by the low
growing bushes and grasses. 1t was
early in the day, and the first rays of the
sun had begun to look over the ragged
tops of the uneven ridge to the eastward
and with blaze of glory they presently
flooded the bosom of the crystal lake ly-
ing in peace before me.
Rocks cropped out from the surface of
the ground everywhere, and loose boul-
ders lay on the side OF the precipitous hills
whose feet were laved by the clear waters
of the little lake. These boulders, by
their precarious tenure OF the ground,
suggested to me the idea that Sysyphus
of old had been engaged here, and that
these huge stones, seemingly ready to
topple down into the lake, were evidences
of his herculean and ineompleted task.
These verdure clothed foothills imme-
diately surrounding the sheet Of water,
were just Lilliputian pickets, thrown out
in advance of the towering mountain
ridge, and contributed pleasingly toward
the pretty and imposing landscape.
As returned to the little red farm
house, about hundred yards from the
lake, saw for the first time Kate Bimley,
the pretty blonde daughter of my host.
She seemed a girl of about IS, with a
rather sad expression upon her attract
i've face. AS 1 raised my hat to salute
her, she gave me nod and a smile; but
the smile was a forced one, and there
was no spontsneity in her greeting. 1t
was not diffidence that checked her at
tempt at courteous and friendly return
of my civility. There was evidently a
cloud over her young life which she was
trying to illumine by forced ray of
pleasantly, that it might not be noticed
by stranger.
She was pleasing contrast in her
plain, neatly fitting gown, to the maidens
l had been accustomed to see at the fash
ionable resorts. 1t was beauty unadorn-
ed; purity and simplicity combined; a
picture OF innocence that would have
been so very bright but for the sadness
that tinged her face.
After breakfast / went out in quest Of
amusement of some kind to while away
the hours that would prove tedious with
out some sort of activity. Strollmg over
toward the huge barn, 1 noticed two fig
ures sitting on the immense fiat rock in
front Of the great doors. 1t was John
Bimley, my host, and the other was his
brother-in-law, Tom Elkins.
Bimley sat modify watching the other
man, who seemed engaged in chiseling
some initials in the hard trsproek. This